


all secrets sleep in winter clothes

by sannlykke



Series: SASO 2017 [9]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Beach Holidays, Clothing Kink, Domestic Fluff, Funeral Home AU, M/M, Making Up, Post-Canon, Summer, Vigilantism, Yu Yu Hakusho AU - Freeform, black swan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: a saso 2017 bonus rounds collection for my mayuaka fills.





	1. boyfriend jersey

**Author's Note:**

> there is nothing explicit in here despite the tags, but **please do read the tags on each chapter** because some fills will contain things like character death
> 
> i know i accidentally posted some to my other fill collection already (which will still be updated with non-mayuaka fills) but they're staying there for now bc i cbf moving them here again orz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11810537#cmt11810537)
> 
> original tags: implied nudity, swearing

Chihiro isn’t the tidiest of people, but at least he keeps his living space neat enough that he could find whatever he needs within five minutes.   
  
It’s been harder to do that ever since Akashi’s clothes had started to migrate to his side of the room—never mind that Akashi probably has more pajamas than Chihiro has any article of clothing. Chihiro would, on a daily basis, find various too-small shirts folded neatly among his, looking like they’ve always belonged. Akashi’s own side of the dresser does not seem to have suffered any damage.  
  
_You have a fucking walk-in closet bigger than my apartment in your house_ —he would always think as he shoves Akashi’s things away. Telling him was no use; Akashi would just smile and shrug innocently like he wasn’t the fucker who purposefully put them there.  
  
(What’s the point when Chihiro can’t even  _wear_  his clothes?)  
  
Which brings him to the point.

  
  
have you been going thru my side of the dresser again  
(2:15 pm)  
  
Aren’t you the one who keeps stealing my clothes?  
(2:20 pm)  
  
no………i can’t find my jersey. the rakuzan one.  
(2:21 pm)  
  
…Are you feeling particularly nostalgic today, Chihiro?  
(2:24 pm)  
  
what, no. it’s just disappeared from where i thought it was  
(2:24 pm)  
  
i keep my shit organized unlike SOMEONE  
(2:25 pm)  
  
akashi?  
(2:33 pm)  
  
…  
(2:50 pm)  
  
ur silence is complicity  
(2:51 pm)  
  
I just got out of class, Chihiro.  
(3:01 pm)

 

By the time Akashi arrives home Chihiro has looked through both his side of the drawer, Akashi’s side, in the laundry basket, everywhere it might’ve vanished to. He’s not particularly  _attached_  to that jersey, now that high school is three years behind them—it’s simply annoying when things go missing. At least Akashi hasn’t taken to stealing his merch too, though Chihiro can’t help but be suspicious when he sees his figures turned in slightly different positions than before when he goes to bed.  
  
(That, or this house is haunted and out to get him.)  
  
“I’m home,” Akashi says from the foyer, closing the door behind him. “Are you there?”  
  
“Yeah, one minute.”  
  
He hears Akashi go into the bathroom.  _Well, that’s it,_  Chihiro thinks as he closes the dresser. At least the room is somewhat less of a mess now that he’s gone over everything and put them in the right place.  _I’ve somehow lost it._  
  
The sound of running water stops. Chihiro sticks his head out of his room, opens his mouth, and freezes.  
  
“Before you say anything,” Akashi says, smiling serenely, “You’ve forgotten you draped it over the chair last night, haven't you? I was going to put it back, but then I would've been late for class.”  
  
“I,” Chihiro says, staring at his boyfriend, who is stark naked apart from Chihiro’s #5 jersey. Nothing Akashi just said makes any sense,  _but_. Akashi doesn’t look half-bad in it now that he’s grown a little taller, but it’s still a smidgen too large for him. Chihiro swallows, all memories of the past day forgotten in lieu of the fabric just barely covering Akashi’s thighs. “What the hell.”  
  
“I see you  _are_  nostalgic.”  
  
“Fuck you, Akashi.”


	2. high heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (BR2) [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11826665#cmt11826665)
> 
> original tags: bdsm (very lightly implied), akashi in heels?

“I don’t know why I have to be here,” Mayuzumi says. “Actually, why are  _you_  two—“  
  
“Akashi-kun’s request,” Kuroko says at the same time Takao pipes up with “Shin-chan’s escaped, so you’re stuck with me now.”  
  
“Why the fuck would Akashi—“  
  
“He already knows you’re getting him a birthday present,” Kuroko says, sipping his milkshake as he continues to mostly ignore Mayuzumi’s glare in favor of his phone. “He doesn’t want a light novel, or a body pillow, or—“  
  
 _I’m going to kill him when I get back,_  Mayuzumi thinks as he simply stands up and leaves the two annoyances behind, stomping—no, walking  _calmly_ —off in search of a good and proper store, thank you.  
  
Shopping for Akashi is hard simply because it’s not like Akashi is lacking for anything. Mayuzumi can see out of the corner of his eye the other two trailing behind at a distance, already chatting about something-or-another like old friends. Ugh. He can’t even get rid of them now that they’re all in college several wards apart (why couldn’t all of them have gone off to America, or at least Hokkaido, so he won’t have to look at them ever again.)  
  
Mayuzumi hadn’t been able to get rid of Akashi either, but that’s a different story.  
  
Then, he sees a familiar color in one of the storefronts.  
  
 _Wait, what._  
  
Akashi’s in class right now, so it can’t possibly be—Mayuzumi exhales slowly as he realizes it’s just a pair of red heels, displayed prominently in the window.  _50% Off_ , a placard declares. It looks nice (if seeming a little painful to walk in—Mayuzumi doesn’t know much about women’s shoes, and it’s not like his own mother wears anything remotely like this), pointed ends, a couple of inches off the ground. When he inches closer to the window, he sees that it’s a size 9.  
  
 _(What’s the size conversion again?)_  
  
It takes a good few seconds for him to realize he’s staring way too intensely at a pair of shoes, and that the chattering behind him has quieted.  
  
Then Takao whistles, “Oh  _man_ , I didn’t know you were into this, Mayu—“  
  
“Shut,” Mayuzumi says through gritted teeth, “the fuck up.”  
  
-  
  
“You know what, Chihiro?” Akashi says, looking down at him lying on the living room carpet. “This is exactly my size. Thank you.”  
  
“Well,” Mayuzumi replies. He doesn’t say anything about Kuroko  _very helpfully_  asking the saleslady for a pair in Akashi’s size (how the fuck does Kuroko know his size—probably some weird Teikou group telepathy), or Takao wheeling them back in that goddamned cart, laughing like a hyena the entire way. He should probably be more ashamed at not knowing Akashi’s shoe size, or that he’d just spent an obscene amount of money on a pair of designer heels (even after discount).   
  
But the fact of the matter is he’s on the ground, disheveled, with a stiletto the color of Akashi's hair poised and ready on his chest.  
  
Akashi smiles, pressing his heel down just enough so Mayuzumi can feel it. “Well?”  
  
“You’re…welcome.”  
  
(Next time, he’s sticking to the hobby shop.)


	3. cat ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11856617#cmt11856617)
> 
> original tags: sexual content (mentioned)

“What…is this.”  
  
“A cat cafe,” Mayuzumi says. They’re standing in front of a set of stairs leading up to a small building, hidden away in a side street just off the busy shopping district. A small sign with crudely—or cutely, Mayuzumi can’t tell—drawn cats indicates the opening hours as 13:00 to 19:00, no outside animals allowed, and a list of prices per hour spent. “You don’t know what a cat cafe is?”  
  
“I know,” Akashi replies. “I just thought you were taking me to a shelter.”  
  
Mayuzumi shrugs. “We can go to one later if you really want, but this place is the closest. Their cats are all adoptable.”  
  
“Well, it can’t hurt to take a look.”  
  
-  
  
They’d been talking—well, Akashi had been doing most of the talking—about adopting for a while now, ever since Mayuzumi started working. Akashi keeps his own schedule busy divided between classes and extracurriculars, of course, but it’s still not the same. Mayuzumi comes home so late sometimes he sees Akashi already asleep on the couch, or getting ready to crawl into bed.  
  
A pet would do both of them good. Although Mayuzumi had neglected to mention through all this time how much Akashi reminds him of a cat already, when he curls up against Mayuzumi’s body in bed, or the way the light in his eyes shift when he’s displeased. It’s kind of cute, except he can’t really have Akashi sitting on him in any sort of comfortable way while he’s doing work.  
  
So, a cat.  
  
As the proprietor goes over the rules—no grabbing, no feeding—Mayuzumi spies a few objects hanging near the desk, next to the counter and sacks of unopened cat food. Cat toys, outfits—oh?  
  
A grey tabby comes up to rub at his legs, meowing. Mayuzumi bends down to stroke it, taking the time to unhook the large, fluffy headband from the desk. “Are these for sale?”  
  
“I’m afraid they aren’t,” the lady says pleasantly, “But you’re welcome to wear them for the duration of your stay, free of charge.”  
  
Akashi looks at Mayuzumi thoughtfully. “I didn’t know you liked that. Is it an anime thing?”  
  
“It’s not just for me,” Mayuzumi says, and he swears he sees Akashi’s eyes do the cat thing again.  
  
-  
  
“Is this why we’re at a cat cafe instead of a shelter.”  
  
“Of course not,” Mayuzumi says, sipping on his matcha latte. The grey tabby is asleep on Akashi’s lap, tail flickering occasionally. Akashi raises an eyebrow at him as he reaches for his own mug of coffee, the fluffy russet-colored cat ears on his head drooping a little as he does so. All he’s missing is a tail.  
  
“This is ridiculous.”  _Ridiculously cute_ , Mayuzumi thinks, but he’s not going to let Akashi have that right now. It’s embarrassing, and would just become fuel for Akashi’s many terrible blackmail machinations, mostly of the bedroom variety.  
  
“I have them on too,” Mayuzumi says, pointing to his own set of grey ears.  
  
“You, too, look ridiculous,” Akashi begins, but the cat in his lap yawns, and his attention is drawn away again. At the very least, Mayuzumi could detect a tinge of fondness in Akashi’s tone that suggests maybe he isn’t so opposed to it after all.  
  
Akashi will definitely have his revenge at some unspecified later time, but for now Mayuzumi is content to savor his own small victory.


	4. airports at 4am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12404969#cmt12404969)
> 
> original tags: sexual content (implied), alcohol and drinking

**1\. the distant echo of luggage sliding off a rack**

It’s three when Mayuzumi arrives at the airport, a preposterous time considering the flight is at six-twenty. He could’ve slept (read) a bit more, taken his sweet time to come, but Akashi had called ahead to tell him he expected Mayuzumi at the lounge early for a surprise.

(He’s never thought of Akashi as an exhibitionist, but honestly, what else could he have possibly meant?)

What he gets is emptiness and sounds amplified, each step he takes echoing too loudly in his ears. The sound of someone else’s check-in luggage rolling along the floor grinds in his ears until its owner has successfully heaved it up to the desk. 

Mayuzumi never checks in anything.

In the distance there’s a dull thud, and the clamor of feet. Maybe someone had fallen down, or there’s an assassin on the loose, weaving through the chairs as airport personnel pursue them through the hallways, behind the waxy mannequins in their claustrophobic cells lining Shopping Area A-1 or through the smoke lounges, shoes leaving the slightest indents in the fading faux-leather seating.

He sees a luggage train overturned near the glass doors leading to customs. A trio of handyman stand in a half-circle around it, bending down as if paying their last respects. Mayuzumi goes into the gate without a second glance.

**2\. the harsh glare of fluorescent lamps on your skin**

At this time of the night, three-thirty now, there’s not much still open to look at. He could hang around the cherry blossom exhibit (it’s the end of spring; somehow they’ve kept these trees alive either through sheer will or some freaky genetic engineering) or look at the fake-authentic Edo period buildings put there to please the tourists. 

No matter how much the government spends on airport lighting, Mayuzumi decides as he passes by the only other people around, a middle-aged couple too busy making out next to the closed doors of a world-class sukiyaki restaurant to notice him, it still looks like shit. His skin looks sallow and washed out (not that he doesn’t look sickly pale all the time, he’s a very healthy young man, thank you very much.)

Not a good look, especially considering the color of his hair. When the couple finally breaks apart and notices him, they screams and run in the other direction, knocking over a lantern in the process.

Mayuzumi sighs. He’ll have to see if the JAL lounge can outdo this.

**3\. the constant drip of a broken drinking fountain**

Akashi may have strung him along for the majority of their relationship (or as he would have it,  _taken the lead_ , including things like booking holiday tickets to Seoul last-minute), it doesn’t necessarily mean Mayuzumi is as passive as he looks. He’s the one who has to deal with fixing the leaks in their apartment, repairing Akashi’s laptop, preparing the meals—

(“Are you sure you’re not just his butler?” Higuchi had asked him after a few too many drinks this one time in Roppongi after a company night out. Mayuzumi doesn’t really keep in touch with anyone, but they’d ended up in the same company with him in IT and Higuchi in accounting. “Sounds like it to me, but if that’s what you like—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Mayuzumi had said, and well, he’d kind of blacked out after that.)

The point being, that dripping noise is driving him  _nuts_.

Isn’t this supposed to be a world-class airport?

He stares at the drinking fountains as he passes each one, but none of them seem to be dripping erratically, or spitting error signs at him when he presses each button in turn. Everything in good order, down to the low rumble of electricity under his skin as he pulls away.

The lounge is up ahead. Mayuzumi walks faster, aware that the sound seems to be catching up to him.

**4\. the shitty wifi even inside the premium lounge**

“You’re late,” Akashi says.

“Tell that to the fucking haunted fountains,” Mayuzumi says. He ignores Akashi’s semi-quizzical look as he dumps his bags unceremoniously on a mahogany chair. They’re the only ones in the VIP lounge; whether this is a truly unpopular time to be flying or if Akashi had bought out all the tickets so they could be alone is up for debate. He takes out his phone. “What’s the password?”

There is nobody at the sleek marble desk; the receptionist had gone off to use the restroom. Akashi gives him a Disapproving Look and places a hand on Mayuzumi’s forearm, brushing a thumb so softly across his wrist he feels goosebumps rise. “You can read your novels with the in-flight WiFi.”

“You know it sucks,” Mayuzumi says, then his breath hitches as Akashi smiles and leans forward. He’s wearing Mayuzumi’s favorite cologne. They’re sitting on some nice, soft reclining sofas, a far cry from the shitty seating reserved for the general populace, and Akashi’s hands have long since moved on to explore other areas of his body. “Akashi—“

“Trust me, it’s not any better here.”

**5\. his lips on your collarbone as the flight crew finally starts the morning broadcast**

When Mayuzumi opens his eyes blearily at the intercom starting up again, he finds that he can’t get up.

Akashi’s hair tickles his nose as he turns around, realizing that Akashi is  _actually_  asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly next to Mayuzumi’s arm. There’s an arm over his left leg, Mayuzumi’s bags and Akashi’s briefcase (because of course he has to be working even on vacation) next to his right.

At least he looks at peace. Mayuzumi looks up to see traces of pink and orange in the horizon.

And when Mayuzumi looks  _down_ —he can see the outline of a bruise starting to form on his collarbone. Typical.

Akashi always gets what he wants, though this time it hadn’t been without a fight. He smiles to himself as he gently shakes Akashi awake, noting a similar marking beneath Akashi’s ear. His hair would hide it well, but knowing it’s there is enough for Mayuzumi to consider this trip already a success.

 


	5. cuddling on the couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12520681#cmt12520681)

“Why don’t you let me have the remote,” Akashi says, in a way that Mayuzumi takes to mean trouble if he doesn’t hand it over right away. “I think we’ve gotten enough out of this.”  
  
“What, you mean you aren’t interested in—“  
  
“Chihiro,” Akashi says, a warning in each syllable. “Remote.”  
  
Mayuzumi sighs and throws it to him. It’s not even that he’s absorbed in the game show; of course Akashi wouldn’t be interested in anything as bougie as this. But over the years Mayuzumi has come to the conclusion that it’s better to do what Akashi wants when he uses that tone of voice. “Whatever you wish, young master.”  
  
He doesn’t get to see whether or not the host has to take off his pants in front of the audience in the end, but that’s okay. Akashi already has his head on Mayuzumi’s shoulder, a familiar weight made all the more better with the simple fact that today is a Saturday and they have absolutely nothing to do.  
  
(Well, not absolutely nothing. Akashi, ever the workaholic, had still spent most of the morning away at some emergency call, and it’s been raining so hard the entire day they’ve had to cancel most of their plans. But.)  
  
Just as Akashi manages to move forward and press his lips to Mayuzumi’s neck, they both hear an inquisitive meow behind them.  
  
If Mayuzumi would look down, he would probably see the closest Akashi has ever gotten to having flames shoot out of his eyes; but he doesn’t, because he’s seen it about five hundred times before. Besides, it’s always amounted to nothing—the only time he’s ever been seen compromising on  _something_. “Let her up.”  
  
“Chihiro.”  
  
“Come off it, I know you like her.”  
  
Akashi doesn’t answer him (it’s not a victory for Mayuzumi yet, or at least Akashi won’t give it to him all that easily), but only pulls the blankets up a bit more, settling into position. Mayuzumi feels a nudge on his thigh. “She’ll come up when she wants to.”  
  
Kaguya-tan (the cat, not Mayuzumi’s body pillow) paws at their sofa, but thankfully Mayuzumi had already clipped her nails. One more destroyed piece of furniture and Akashi’s unspoken threats might just come true. Mayuzumi reaches over and moves a strand of hair out of his face. “Just like you, you mean.”  
  
“Are you comparing me to a cat?”  
  
But Akashi doesn’t move from where he is, and Mayuzumi doesn’t feel impending doom on the back of his neck. It’s not something Mayuzumi would’ve cared to say out loud even two years ago, so perhaps they’re getting somewhere. “I’m comparing the cat to you.”  
  
Akashi’s probably rolling his eyes—internally, that is; Mayuzumi tries to imagine it, and finds that he’d really rather never see such an expression on Akashi’s face. But he doesn’t object when Mayuzumi holds him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and they sit there until the rain has stopped pattering on the rooftops outside.


	6. bickering over breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12537321#cmt12537321)
> 
> tags: sexual content (very minor)

“Did you go through my books again,” Mayuzumi asks over their morning coffee, his eyes red and bleary. “Akashi.”

It’s not that he’s been crying. He’d simply stayed up all night trying to locate the fifth-anniversary special volume of A Clockwork Apple he’d gotten last year after waiting in line for five and a half hours. And he’d failed spectacularly, because either he’d been so careless as to misplace it or Akashi’s one hell of a good Hider Of Things Important To Mayuzumi.

Probably the latter, judging by the way Akashi’s expression doesn’t waver as he looks Mayuzumi straight in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Akashi may be a good liar, but it doesn’t mean Mayuzumi’s falling for it yet again. “I know you took it.”

“I did not,” Akashi replies with no sense of shame whatsoever. He looks down at his pancakes— _suspicious,_  Mayuzumi thinks, staring at the pieces disappearing into his mouth. Very suspicious. “Why would I touch your books?”

“You read them sometimes.”

“And I always put them back where they are.”

“Akashi,” Mayuzumi says, with a begrudging sigh. He looks into the remnants of his coffee; unfortunately this isn’t some magical universe where he can deduce where his things went just by analyzing the dregs. “If I did something—“

Akashi hums. He sets down his own mug, pushing it aside, and looks at Mayuzumi with both hands propping up his chin. Cute, but also downright demonic. “You think I hid your book in retribution for something you did? Please, Chihiro, that is petty.”

_You_  are  _fucking petty_ , Mayuzumi wants to say, but he doesn’t in case Akashi’s bought some sort of sound-activated paper shredder and has Ringo-tan hanging over it in some unseen corner of the apartment. So instead he opts for “Then can you help me find it?”

He watches Akashi lean back against his chair, a small smile that’s definitely not evil or anything coming to his face. “Oh?”

“Don’t “Oh?” me,” Mayuzumi groans, already knowing he’s lost. “Just yes or no.”

“I’ll help you,” Akashi says. A deal with the devil, Mayuzumi knows; he isn’t surprised when that’s followed up with, “On one condition.”

-

“We’ve been living together for five years now,” Mayuzumi says, three parts exasperated (and one slightly turned on.) “If you wanted a kiss—“

“What’s the fun in asking?” Akashi murmurs against his chest, because of course he would. He touches Mayuzumi’s neck, and Mayuzumi winces when his fingers brush across the fresh bruises starting to form there. “You’re getting something out of this too.”

“My book, you mean.”

Akashi’s lips twist up into something like a grimace at the novel resting on the counter. “Was that not good enough?”

Mayuzumi deliberates—he could go the route of reassurance and settle this immediately, or he could, well, this.

“Do it again,” he tells Akashi.

(If this—Akashi’s lips against his, the best sort of post-breakfast wake-up call ever—means he’s being played, maybe Mayuzumi doesn’t mind that much after all.)

 


	7. morning person vs. night owl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12541929#cmt12541929)
> 
> tags: sexual content

“You should get a job,” Akashi says one day over their morning coffee. “A proper one.”

“I’m sorry,” Mayuzumi snaps, downing his mug in one go. “I’m not mooching off of your trust fund.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What else do you mean?”

Akashi sighs, as if beset by an incredibly stupid question he’d expected Mayuzumi to have the full capacity to understand at 7 in the morning after being literally dragged out of bed. “Your sleeping habits are getting worse.”

“I sleep in the day,” Mayuzumi says, standing up. “What does it matter to you anyway? You’re not even home when I’m—“

Akashi crosses his arms, a signature move signaling the end of Mayuzumi’s peace and quiet. “And how do you think  _I_  sleep when you are walking around until four in the morning?”

“I’m quiet,” Mayuzumi says, and he is. But that’s not why Akashi’s getting into this—oh no, he’s definitely got some evil plan in store.

“Right,” Akashi says doubtfully, and Mayuzumi knows by the glint in his eyes that oh, he’s in for it.

-

This is how Mayuzumi ends up in Akashi Corp’s headquarters, a ‘personal assistant’ so to speak—he has his own spacious desk and a room separate from Akashi’s, and spends more time writing his novels than he does doing any sort of assistant work.

(Akashi sometimes comes in for work of the personal variety, but Mayuzumi doubts this is helping the company any unless keeping Akashi happy is all it takes to run a successful business. Which, on second thought, might be the primary reason why he’s here after all.)

It’s kind of a depressing thought, but at least his sleeping schedule is returning to normal again.

“Did you really just have me work at your company so you can fuck me on my desk whenever you want.”

Akashi shoots him a Look over dinner. “That was one time.”

“Fine,” Mayuzumi replies, stabbing a little too vigorously at his salmon. “We sleep and wake at the same time now. Super coordinated. You want me to get in a fucking robot next?”

The semi-confused look on Akashi’s face confirms Mayuzumi’s suspicions; he makes a mental note for what to watch next time Akashi actually feels like watching television. “What?”

“Never mind.”

“You’re not getting paid to do nothing, Chihiro,” Akashi says, changing the subject. He slides his phone over to Mayuzumi, who looks down to see stock charts. “At least I hope you do not feel that way. It’s a good morale booster, and you’re looking much better these days.”

“Oh, wow,” Mayuzumi says, raising an eyebrow at the market prices. “It’s gone up.”

Akashi smiles at him in a way that suggests  _it’s not the only thing that’s gone up_ , words that will never leave the mouth of a well-to-do young man like him, but Mayuzumi can dream.

 


	8. black swan au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR3 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=12796997#cmt12796997)
> 
> original tags: emotional manipulation (?), violence to hands, mutilation (implied), puncturing the skin (implied), mental health issues (implied?), psychological horror, pov second person
> 
> **PLEASE heed the warnings!!**

**Act I**

You see him dancing alone in the studio—your first glance of movement too ethereal for this world. His slim body hugs the rails, smooth skin illuminated by the soft yellow light. You only stop by for the half-open door, the door of a private space only afforded by the best of the best, the principal dancer. 

Watching him, it is no wonder to you why Akashi Seijuurou has been chosen for this role.

His body bends gracefully, the white fabric pulled taut around his skin, his feet so delicate they must then also be most dangerous. You can see what is underneath the spandex—his well-toned muscles—and what isn’t: feathers and all.

You watch, never taking your eyes off him even as he turns and smiles at you, scarlet eyes drawing you into a vortex you cannot escape from.

**Act II**

When you next see him you are on stage, moving the props away, sweat beading on your forehead. It is late, and there are few people left on duty. You watch the janitor close the door behind him. The rest of the company has already retired for the night; Akashi alone is still practicing. 

You wonder what it takes to be so bold, moving across the stage as if ten thousand people are watching instead of one. Each position, each jump, each twirl is executed perfectly, as if he had been born to do this. Akashi’s limbs seem to cut sharply through the air, and you stop. Somehow this time is different.

It is still beautiful; breathtaking, but somehow off.

And then you think,  _oh: of course it is different._  There is one person for two roles, after all. A pristine tragedy in white and black. 

Akashi finishes his dance, and as you leave, you hear him call out.

“Chihiro.”

Where had he learned your name? Surely it is not by your nametag, which only shows your surname. You look towards him, confused, slightly miffed at being delayed, but also hopeful.

When he smiles at you, the stage lights illuminate him golden, black tulle and all.

_You are looking at a star._

**Act III**

You are looking at a bird, its feathers ruffled and strewn across the room. You turn, and there is a mirror.

(Who are you?)

You shake your head. Surely you are simply too tired. The director, lacking personnel, had asked you to deliver a letter for Akashi, and so you had come to his private studio.

(Whether or not your heart had always been beating this hard is another matter altogether.)

The entire room is mirrors—so he could always see what he is doing. You walk towards the Akashi there, certain he’s just playing a trick, but when you touch the coldness of the glass it is hard.

Akashi in the mirror smiles at you, teeth and all, stark white as his leotard. You wonder what his teeth would feel like against your skin, and you reach into the mirror as he reaches towards you, your fingers brushing his.

(Help me.)

His eyes seem to beg for you as you pull him, slowly, a frail creature instead of what you had seen onstage. If you close your eyes as he does his now, you will remember the strength of his  _fouetté_  as he pivots and the calculative arc of his  _grand jeté_ , the determined anguish and sultry flourish as he captivates the audience in the same way he has you entirely in his grip.

When you open your eyes again, he is gone.

“Hello, Chihiro,” Akashi says from behind, but when you turn you see his eyes are gold.

**Act IV**

The mirror shatters.

_( **Act V** , An Encore_

_It is the day of the performance, but you are the only person in the audience, front row and center._

_The playbill in your hand lists an impressive repertoire and names of the dancers, familiar, perhaps, in another life. But there is only one on stage, and you know all too well the goosebumps that crawl across your skin as you hear the first notes of the music._

_And so he dances, and dances, and dances, until the stage is overflowing and you are unable to speak, until your fingernails have dug so deep into the varnished wood they may have shattered for all you know, enraptured as he reaches out for you for the last time, for Siegfried, for the vanished—_

_You, freed and grateful, step onto the stage._

_“What can I do without you?”_

_In the end, when you are in the broken glass, both Odette and Odile stare at you, triumphant, their reflections blending into one another until you cannot tell who is who anymore.)_


	9. summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13423685#cmt13423685)

“Chihiro, come here.”  
  
“I’d rather not, thanks.”  
  
Mayuzumi does not have to look in Akashi’s direction to know he’s being judged, however slightly, for refusing to step out into the sun. It’s July and hot enough for him to not want to have anything to do with leaving his room, let alone be dragged all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, too close to the billions of grains of hot sand that are starting to stick to every inch of his body.  
  
And Akashi had prevailed, yet again. Figures.  
  
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s never had one of those experiences before Mayuzumi sees on the television: youth dramas waxing poetic about summer and the sea and couples running along the sandy dunes at sunset. If he looks up he could probably see seagulls circling them, calling out, the melodrama of the whole situation straight out of a light novel.   
  
“Chihiro.”  
  
“You’re not listening to me at all, aren’t you.”  
  
Akashi shoves a bottle of sunscreen at Mayuzumi, completely ignoring his words. “Help me put this on then, if you insist on staying here.”  
  
Mayuzumi sighs, but he does as he is told.  
  
-  
  
“This is your fault.”  
  
Akashi slaps—a little too hard, Mayuzumi thinks, and on purpose—at his sunburnt neck with some aloe vera, making him flinch. They’re sitting in the shade for a kakigori pit stop, but the owner is nowhere to be seen.  _Alright, guess it’s another unfortunate day for me,_  Mayuzumi thinks, wincing a little as he feels the cooling effect start to work its way into his skin. It was so absolutely unfair that Akashi had been out there for that long and had had nothing happen to him.  
  
“I wasn’t aware I had the power to control the sun.”  
  
“God, you wish you did.” Mayuzumi replies without thinking, and Akashi side-eyes him with that amused little smile of his that could mean nothing good. At least now that they’re on dry land Akashi can’t throw him into the ocean. “I…what is that.”  
  
Akashi hums, not answering, and stands up to walk towards the counter again. “I’m thirsty, that’s all.”  
  
 _Finally, a sign that you’re human._  Mayuzumi makes to stand, but then thinks better of it—better let Akashi serve him for once, because he’d be lying if he isn’t impressed at how well Akashi is playing at being an average person who actually enjoys going on a bougie beach vacation. Not even Mayuzumi could manage that, and he is decidedly much more average than anyone around.  
  
He wonders what kind of vacations Akashi had gone on as a child—there would be servants carrying a towel for him, of course, and they’d be having caviar instead of popsicles. Perhaps he doesn’t even walk; people like that are carried around everywhere, aren’t they?  
  
Someone taps Mayuzumi on the shoulder, bringing him back to the present, where Akashi is standing next to him with only one serving of violently pink strawberry kakigori in hand.  
  
“You’re not getting any?”  
  
“You shouldn’t eat so many sweets.”  
  
Mayuzumi inhales, unable to keep the offense out of his voice. “Are you my mo—“  
  
Akashi, ever the risk-taker, shoves a spoonful of shaved ice into his mouth. Mayuzumi almost chokes, the sudden chill on his tongue not so much offensive as surprising. It’s quite enough to take his mind off the fantasy he’s constructed or the pain in his neck. He does not have much time to savor it, though, as Akashi leans in, and  _oh—_  
  
“You could’ve,” Mayuzumi says, breathless as they break apart, the taste of salt from Akashi’s lips still lingering and enhancing the sweetness inside his mouth, “You—could’ve just gotten two.”  
  
Something swells inside him as he notes the pink on Akashi’s cheeks, whether it’s from the sun or the kiss notwithstanding. “Eat up, Chihiro.”  
  
Mayuzumi reaches for the spoon, a wry smile playing on his own lips. Akashi may like to take things from others, this included, but it doesn’t mean two can’t play the game. “You’re not the only one who’s thirsty.”


	10. making up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR2 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13061445#cmt13061445)

Mayuzumi swipes his card and steps out into the station, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood—slow, a rustle of leaves here and there, then nothing. 

He’s not been to as many places as he’s expected to since he moved to Tokyo three years ago. It’s not so much the hectic city lifestyle—he only takes on the minimum of classes needed—but the fact that the rest of his money and time is spent on other pursuits, on his novels, on writing.

Sometimes it’s easier doing that when he’s away from what’s familiar. 

This is a touristy area from what he’s read, not even that far from where his university is. Mayuzumi doesn’t come to places like this often—there’s no shortage of crowds in Akihabara or Ikebukuro or any of the other otaku havens dotted around town, but at least those are places where he’s apt to find things he wants. Not some old-timey tourist street. 

At least there don’t seem to be many people around on the weekdays. He walks towards the signs, feeling his phone buzz as he looks up at the map.

“Yeah?”

“Chihiro.”

He stops tracing a finger over the imaginary roads. Akashi should be in class right now, but the bustle of traffic from the other side of the line tells Mayuzumi either the world has come crashing down or Akashi Seijuurou is actually, deliberately playing truant. “Where are you?”

“Class is canceled today,” Akashi tells him, as if there is nothing wrong with this conversation whatsoever. “I’m at Nezu Shrine. I…want to talk. Will you meet me there?”

_Asking instead of commanding, that’s a first_ , Mayuzumi thinks. He sighs, glancing at the streets and symbols; it’s not so far that he can’t walk there. And he’s long given up on trying to ask Akashi how he can tell where Mayuzumi is at any time. “Alright.”

Two weeks had passed by in silence and increasing discomfort since their argument, which now that Mayuzumi looks back had started from something so insignificant he’s nearly forgotten what it had been. A misplaced shoe, books left on the kitchen table, spending too much time in the restroom—all of that and more, maybe. It had been easy not going home entirely for sleeping in the library, or being home and avoiding any contact more than necessary with Akashi. There are two bedrooms in the apartment after all, something Mayuzumi will begrudgingly call a product of Akashi’s foresight.

He stops by one of the many small, family-owned stores lining the short stretch of Yanaka Ginza to dawdle and procrastinate the meeting. Akashi may have called him first, but it doesn’t mean Mayuzumi will give in that easily.

(Still, along with his own purchases, there is a pack of handmade silken tofu in his shopping bag as he exits.)

-

The shrine reminds him of Kyoto—quiet, surrounded by forests, opulently built and somehow having survived the Kanto Earthquake and the fire raids, but most of from all the red torii he finds Akashi under, gazing at the koi pond below. It’s a scene he remembers well from the dozens of trips the team had taken to Fushimi Inari, playing hide-and-seek like elementary students between the columns, the fiery red of the maple leaves complimenting the scene.

He’d kissed Akashi under one of them, on their last trip there before he’d gone off to college.

“Hey,” Mayuzumi says, not hoping for a reprise but something close to it. Akashi looks up at him, smiles, then goes back to watching the fish.

_Okay,_  Mayuzumi thinks. There had been no real malice in that smile, or hint that he’s three seconds away from pushing Mayuzumi over the ledge. Just acknowledgement that Mayuzumi’s here, and well—

“Doesn’t this remind you of high school?”

“How utterly unromantic,” Mayuzumi replies, though he’s thinking of exactly the same thing. Akashi looks down at the bag he’s carrying with a much more familiar, knowing, asshole smile. “Why do I even bother with you.”

Akashi touches his hand, a wordless sort of apology that Mayuzumi has come to accept as the norm. It doesn’t mean things will go back to what they were right away, but as he leans over to give Akashi a quick kiss—it’s enough to sate him for now.

 


	11. funeral home for monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (BR4) [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=13825393#cmt13825393)
> 
> original tags: surgery, implied needles, supernatural elements, death (non-major character), puncturing skin

There isn’t much that Mayuzumi hasn’t seen in this line of work.   
  
He’s quiet, works hard (or as hard as he tells himself to, anyway, which is more than enough considering he is the only one here), leaves the front end to those emotional feelsy types like Mibuchi. There’s nothing quite like the plaintive wails and fake sobbing of family members that gets on Mayuzumi’s nerves. At the very least, he’s glad for the thick, soundproof walls of the embalming room.  
  
There aren’t that many privately-owned funeral parlors in this part of the country anymore, mostly because some of the dead simply do not stay dead for very long. Most of the time Mayuzumi catches them before he actually starts the operation—a cursory swipe across the cartoid artery would usually reveal something if not a pulse.   
  
Of course he gets the occasional zombie, but what can he do but calmly shoot it in the face. Good thing ghouls aren’t susceptible to that shit.  
  
Sometimes he gets hungry—it’s inevitable, for someone like him—but.  
  
“Chihiro,” Akashi says, having appeared out of nowhere like he always does, too close to Mayuzumi for comfort in this sort of space. “Please respect our customers.”  
  
“I’m not gonna eat them,” Mayuzumi snaps at him, turning away. He carefully puts down a stiff arm, already in its final stages of rigor mortis. This one is, obviously, very dead. Akashi looks down at the deceased, brushing aside a few strands of hair, the smile on his face too fond for Mayuzumi to comment on without sounding equally embarrassing. “I  _am_  trying to work here, in case you can’t tell.”  
  
“I can tell just fine.”  
  
“Right,” Mayuzumi says. He goes back to his needle and thread, deftly sewing up the deceased’s lips, smoothing down the features, closing the eyes. Akashi watches him work, eyes flickering towards the picture propped up on the work table.  
  
“If you need an injector—“  
  
“I don’t.” It would work just as well, maybe more cosmetically elegant, but nobody has complained to him about the viewings yet. At least, nobody has gotten through Akashi about that yet, and Akashi would definitely have made it known if Mayuzumi had fucked up in some way. Now, though, as he reels the tank over to his work table, he sees Akashi looking at him in a way that suggests otherwise. “What.”  
  
“I was thinking,” Akashi says, his smile showing too-sharp teeth, fingers brushing against Mayuzumi’s hands in that commanding sort of way, despite the dirty rubber gloves Mayuzumi’s wearing and the smell of formaldehyde a complete turn-off from whatever Akashi’s got planned. “Perhaps you should finish your work early.”  
  
Mayuzumi checks the tube, then starts massaging the body as he starts pumping fluid into the veins. “What did you say about respecting our customers, again.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You’re insinuating you want to fuck next to,” Mayuzumi gestures at the dead man, who thankfully stays dead. “Him. Like I said before, no.”  
  
Akashi has the gall to look affronted. “Chihiro.”  
  
“I’ll be done in two hours,” Mayuzumi tells him, peeling off the gloves for new ones as he watches the fluid meter tick. He presses a quick kiss to Akashi’s forehead as he passes, throwing the gloves into the wash basin. Maybe it’s too much of a compromise, judging from the smile returning to Akashi’s face, but there’s nothing like people getting all up in his workspace to prevent him from functioning, vampire boyfriend/boss/what have you included. “Go wait in the office for me, won’t you?”


	12. yu yu hakusho au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (BR4) [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=14038641#cmt14038641)
> 
> original tags: **character death** , blood (implied), graphic depictions of violence/gore, self harm, medical issues (cancer), supernatural elements, mental health issues
> 
>  
> 
> **^^ read the above tags before proceeding ^^**

“So, Mayuzumi Chihiro, will you help me?”  
  
Mayuzumi stares at him. There aren’t many humans who could find their way here—Mayuzumi isn’t afraid of being killed by some rogue hunter, but he knows without a doubt that Akashi Seijuurou could and would do it without a second thought, regardless of what he’s said so far.  
  
Still, he leans back, warily. “I’m not interested.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“If you want to kill everyone, you could just do it yourself.” Mayuzumi watches his mismatched eyes carefully, trying to decipher his reaction. “Besides, it would not affect me. What incentive do I have to help you?”  
  
The corners of Akashi’s lips curl upward. “You want to bargain?”  
  
“No,” Mayuzumi replies, looking away. “I don’t.”  
  
-  
  
It’s easy, too easy for Akashi to rope the humans into his grand scheme, a wholly different technique from how he used to subjugate demons—Mayuzumi watches him convince, expound, wear them down. For some of them, Mayuzumi thinks, Chapter Black is just an excuse. There is no end to what humans are capable of, cruelties on scales that at times seem to dwarf what demons can do.  
  
(Through the grapevine he knows of another tape, one he has not seen before that could speak otherwise, but: Akashi does not speak of it, and so Mayuzumi does not ask. It is not his role to play a nanny or martyr, after all.)  
  
There is no virtue or sin in this for him, someone who lives on the borders, in the twilight dimensions, so close and yet so far from the happenings of this world. Mayuzumi simply does what he is told.  
  
-  
  
The end result of it all, he thinks, could be interesting.  
  
He comes to this conclusion a few weeks after the fact, when he sees Akashi angry for the first time.  
  
_This_  Akashi, Mayuzumi corrects himself. He doesn’t touch any of the carnage left behind as he walks up to Akashi, standing a few feet away to simply gaze upon him. Akashi is hunched over, holding his own knees, blood dripping from his fingers and the sopped-up remains of his clothing.  
  
Mayuzumi coughs.  
  
“I’m not gonna wait here all day to clean up, you know.”  
  
At this, Akashi turns towards him, and Mayuzumi sees with some interest that both his eyes are now scarlet. “Mayuzumi-san…”  
  
“Come on,” Mayuzumi says. He tugs at Akashi’s sleeve, watching with wonder as Akashi stands up in a most telling imitation of obedience he’s ever shown. If seeing this were worth his salary in light novels—he might have gotten himself into a situation most curious. “You’ll be late to the meeting.”  
  
-  
  
“I still don’t know what you want to gain from this,” Mayuzumi says. He watches the steam from the onsen coalesce, forming a new barrier of moisture on the trails of bare skin left behind by his fingers as he traces them down Akashi’s spine. Akashi does not shudder, nor does he bother to move when Mayuzumi tugs at him to close the space between them. “Akashi.”  
  
“Even after all this time, Chihiro?” Akashi replies, somewhere between woefully bored and unamused. Mayuzumi presses a finger to his lips, listening to his quiet breathing. There are scars all over his body, too many to count, old and new. Even so, Mayuzumi can tell they are self-inflicted.  
  
He doesn’t feel pity; Akashi would not want it from him, in any case. Demons do not wonder about the nightmares humans have, how they sleep at night—there is nothing on Mayuzumi’s conscience that weighs him down. Despite it all he knows very little of humans, and only from the books he’s read in all those years spanning eternity inside his own cocoon.  
  
“I spent many years doing the wrong thing,” Akashi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I killed—I eradicated, in the name of good. It was a lie, as you know.”  
  
“Why should humans need this protection when what they do is far worse?”  
  
There is no monstrosity born from nothing, for demons and humans alike. Akashi’s wounds are there for a reason, and he will continue them to himself under Mayuzumi’s watch. A part of him, the Akashi who sometimes looks at Mayuzumi and smiles, who looks a little more sad but no less sure of what he needs to do—Mayuzumi wonders if damning the entire world is what he really wants. And if it is, what will become of him in the end.  
  
(Were he to place his hand around Akashi’s waist he would feel the tumor within, growing, eating at him all the while. Another thing Mayuzumi does not bother telling Akashi, but this time only because both of them know.)  
  
Perhaps that’s why Mayuzumi chooses to stay. He leans forward to kiss Akashi on the neck, savoring the taste that will soon go away. “If that’s what you say.”  
  
-  
  
(“Do you think I’ve done a bad thing?” Akashi asks through the hazy air, so soft that Mayuzumi barely hears him. Mayuzumi cannot tell day from night anymore—opening the dimensional barrier had exhausted him, but not so much that he cannot do this.  
  
Mayuzumi looks at Akashi lying there in the sand, then up at the people surrounding them. None of them say a word; he could see the revulsion in their eyes, and pity, and more.  _You don’t deserve this,_  he thinks, a sudden anger welling up inside.  _They can’t look at you like that._  
  
“I don’t care,” Mayuzumi replies, taking his hand as he pulls Akashi into his arms. The others are already leaving, their backs turned, unwilling to look upon just another soon-to-be closed case file in a million. Mayuzumi could hear him breathing, ragged and shallow against his chest. “You are already dead, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter what you do after you’re gone.”  
  
“So you knew.”  
  
“Like I said—“ Mayuzumi reaches up, the air rippling around them as he pries open the dark, “—It does not affect me. You just did what you had to.”  
  
The ghost of a smile remains on Akashi’s face even after Mayuzumi pulls him inside, into the swirling shadows and borderlands, to remain there long after the world would become ash and dust.)


	13. beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR 5 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24808.html?thread=15203304#cmt15203304)
> 
> original tags: alcohol/drinking

Of the many questionable things Mayuzumi prides himself on being able to do, perhaps the ability to fix electronics is the most useful, to others at least. As much as he wants to, he can’t subsist entirely off arguing over light novel tropes in niche online forums or figurine-collecting or winning kusaya-eating contests.  
  
Akashi had suggested a weekend getaway to Okinawa late last week: maybe it would put Mayuzumi more in a writing mood, stop him from fiddling with everything from the oven timer to Akashi’s old laptop. Like, yeah, he gets a little antsy when he can’t find inspiration for his next novel, but doesn’t everyone?  
  
“Not everyone installs Windows 10 into their seven-year-old watch when they’re stressed,” Akashi had said, entirely ignoring the fact that  _his_  dark circles are even worse. Okay, Mayuzumi would admit, maybe he’s gone a little overboard. Not that he’d mention that to Akashi. None of his problems would ever measure up to the shit that would come with running a multinational enterprise.  
  
Which brings them here to the beach, currently empty. Akashi is lounging on a hammock, sipping a cocktail the waiter had just brought. Like he’d have any chance of people walking in on them—Mayuzumi knows Akashi had given “a little talk” to the hotel management to get the beach emptied out tonight.  _Who’s more extra, huh?_  
  
Still, the only things interrupting their long, pleasant silence are the waves gently rolling ashore, and the staticky growl of the old radio Mayuzumi had found lying half-buried in the sand. Even on pristine beaches there’s shit like this everywhere—washed in by typhoons, or someone’s impulse buy left behind, though it’s intact enough to look antique instead of straight-up trash. He’s managed to fiddle with it enough that it makes a bit of noise, but it’s about all it does.  
  
“You’re still working on it.”  
  
It’s not a question—Akashi turns towards him, eyes half-lidded in the way Mayuzumi knows means he’s about seventy percent to tipsy. He looks at the radio, mostly clean of sand (it’ll never be completely clean, Mayuzumi knows), and then at the sea. “I wonder what we’ll hear when you finally fix it.”  
  
Mayuzumi snorts. “Probably just the local weather channel or whatever. Anyway, it seems like a bust. I only have those batteries you asked the waiter for.”  
  
“But you’re still working on it.”  
  
He stops, realizing his fingers are still tapping on the dials, the grooves making little indents on his skin. Perhaps it’s really broken beyond repair, but there’s no telling what he’ll get out of it. “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”  
  
Akashi laughs quietly, and Mayuzumi shifts from his position on the towel. He stands up, taking the radio with him, and walks towards Akashi. The sand beneath his feet is still warm as he plops down next to the hammock. “Still going overboard on vacation, I see.”  
  
“You’re a little overboard too,” he tells Akashi, who merely smiles and offers him his drink. In the flickering light of the small fire in front of them the glass seems to glow; he takes a sip, and the taste is bitter. “Ugh, what the hell.”  
  
“I asked them to surprise me.”  
  
Mayuzumi makes to reply, but the radio makes a sharp noise, like scratching in the back of someone’s throat, then fades into a jazz number he thinks he’d heard in the bookstore last week. Akashi looks down at it, eyes a little wider now. “Oh?”  
  
“…Oh.”  
  
Well. Mayuzumi carefully places it down on the towel, making sure to keep it upright. “Guess it does work.”  
  
“Good job,” Akashi murmurs, reaching for Mayuzumi’s face. He lets Akashi go at it, feeling soft lips on his. He tastes bitter at first, like the cocktail, but crystallizes into something much sweeter as they break apart.


	14. harry potter au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR6 Remix of [this fill](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24808.html?thread=15381224#cmt15381224)

Here’s the thing: Mayuzumi, as a rule, hates going to town.  
  
It’s not as if he’s missing much by holing up whenever he’s got a bout of inspiration—he (or rather Akashi, in a bout of generosity or condescension, Mayuzumi hasn’t figured out which one yet) has someone deliver groceries to him once a week. Food that he’d Accio up the stairs, or which he’d just plain forget about in the frenzy of writing (which is more often than not.) He hates the crowds in general, the shitty reporters who somehow are able to recognize him by how evasive he is, being stopped by fans bugging him about release dates.  
  
Ignoring the jibes on the book review column of The Daily Prophet is easy, but not so the sound of unwelcome visitors Apparating right into his room as if his protective charms meant nothing.  
  
“Akashi,” he murmurs, when said person looms over him, hand on his shoulder like an increasingly annoying ghost of the kind that not even Mayuzumi wants to be when he dies, “Didn’t our last conversation go something like, if I’m not fucking dead or on the verge of dying, don’t barge into my room like this?”  
  
“As I recall, you appeared rather abruptly last—“  
  
“That was an emergency.”  
  
“You haven’t been eating. Also an emergency.”  
  
“ _You_  haven’t been listening.”  
  
They stare at each other for a few moments, a stalemate: Akashi with his infinite patience starting to wear thin; Mayuzumi contemplating how fucked he would be were he to set Akashi’s robes on fire, all the while knowing Akashi is reading his thoughts and most definitely judging him for it. Then he exhales, shrugging Akashi’s hand away as he sets his pen down. “Fine.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Don’t act like you didn’t already figure out what I mean,” Mayuzumi almost snaps, but he holds it in just enough to keep his act together. “Come on.”  
  
-  
  
“Hm.”  
  
 _You know how to talk,_  Mayuzumi thinks, using his most annoyed inner voice. They’ve mastered this sort of nonverbal conversation since their Hogwarts days, where Akashi would find him hiding in one of the secret passageways to read or occasionally, write. He’d sit there watching Mayuzumi, offering unprompted advice that to Mayuzumi’s chagrin seemed to actually work.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Mayuzumi had asked him once, exasperated enough to actually talk.  
  
“If you finish this faster, you’ll have more time to study for your NEWTs.”  
  
Trust Akashi’s life to always revolve around exams and exceeding any socially acceptable standard he might come across. Even now, sitting across from him and nursing a decidedly ordinary cup of coffee (Mayuzumi’s feels his income best spent on figurines and commissioned paintings), Akashi is flipping through one of Mayuzumi’s latest releases, humming as he does so. Mayuzumi sighs and stuffs a biscuit into his mouth.   
  
“If you’re gonna start nitpicking—“  
  
“If I were, I wouldn’t do it now,” Akashi finishes, looking up with a faint smile of the sort that catches Mayuzumi off-guard. Sort of—disgustingly fond, if he will. Mayuzumi scrunches his nose in an effort to look unimpressed, but nothing escapes Akashi’s notice. “This morning’s Daily Prophet seems to have done the job for me, albeit badly.”  
  
“Amazing,” Mayuzumi says drily, watching the spoon float out of his cup. “The great Akashi Seijuurou reading a pedestrian, lowbrow excuse for journalism. What will your colleagues at the Ministry ever say.”  
  
“You flatter me, Chihiro.”  
  
Mayuzumi snorts. “Right.”  
  
Still—Akashi seems content enough sitting here with him having shitty coffee and not-flaky-enough biscuits instead of outside with a big-ass tea spread on his big-ass lawn, so who’s Mayuzumi to say anything about it? At least here he won’t have to worry about reporters trying to crawl through the windows.  
  
Akashi lays a hand over his, in the middle of his thoughts, his hand slightly warm. This time, Mayuzumi does not move away.


	15. vigilantism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR7 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/25713.html?thread=15927153#cmt15927153)
> 
> **WARNINGS** for violence, death, blood.

“No,” Mayuzumi says, keeping his eyes on the page. All in vain, of course, but he still has his pride.  
  
Akashi, ever serene, only looks down at him knowingly.  _Asshole._  
  
“Make that  _fuck_  no.”  
  
“Language, Chihiro.”  
  
“Mibuchi is free,” Mayuzumi points out, eyebrows furrowing. “Or Hayama. Look, you  _know_  I just got into a new series and was planning to spend today—“  
  
“—I am quite acquainted with how fast you read, Chihiro,” Akashi says, not budging one bit. “It would take no longer than three hours at night for you to get through them all. Shall we?”  
  
“…I hate you.”  
  
-  
  
Now he’s perched precariously on a tree, trying to adjust his scope to see beyond the clearing he’s supposed to be observing. Akashi is…somewhere. Somewhere in the low bushes, observing as well, but also very much keen on stabbing the fuck out of the group of men congregated just a few feet away.  
  
It’s not that Mayuzumi doesn’t want to see these guys go down—they’ve been doing this, whatever this is, vigilantism or letting off steam or whatever, for far too long now to say he doesn’t like the feel of it. Things are much simpler than that when it comes to his needs and desires; Mayuzumi’s an inherently selfish person, and for that reason alone he tends to want to spend his time doing shit he actually wants to do.  
  
Unfortunately for him, looking out for Akashi trumps all of that, so here he is.  
  
He watches Akashi inch towards them. Maybe it’s his upbringing, Mayuzumi thinks idly. Being raised more like a robot than a child. Anyone less would have buckled under that kind of pressure, and maybe Akashi had in a way, but he’s still alive and kicking and doing his best impression of Batman, or something.  
  
The first man barely has time to scream before Akashi stabs him through the neck.  _Okay, so not exactly Batman,_  Mayuzumi thinks, readying his rifle as the others are roused into action. Batman doesn’t stab human traffickers through the neck. Or the face. Or—  
  
“Goddamnit,” he mutters, aiming and firing off a round that took out the guy coming up behind Akashi. Two more shots and he’s done. Akashi wouldn’t praise him for his improvement in marksmanship (he still sees the last one moving before Akashi walks over to finish him off) but still.  
  
“Why the fuck do you have to be so hands-on,” Mayuzumi grumbles as he approaches, dusting off his pants. If Mibuchi were here, he would’ve tried to talk Akashi out of it; a useless gesture to Mayuzumi, but maybe he should start getting a few pointers or two. There’s too much blood on Akashi’s face for his comfort, though most of it from his victims. Mayuzumi grabs his arm, turning it around to look at the bruises starting to form and the wound from a stray bullet that’d grazed his shoulder. “God, look at you.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Akashi says, tilting his head in that peculiar way of his. “Now that we’ve gotten that taken care of.”  
  
“You’re fucked up,” Mayuzumi retorts. “You know what real couples do? Go to restaurants and museums and shit. Not  _kill people together_.”  
  
Akashi smiles. “So you’re admitting we’re a couple.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Mayuzumi mutters, feeling his face go red. But he grabs Akashi and leans into his lips anyway, the taste of blood surprisingly easy to ignore after the billionth time he's tasted it.


	16. last game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BR7 [Prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/25713.html?thread=15856497#cmt15856497)

**I. The Court**  
  
Mayuzumi’s said as much:  _whatever it was that we had is done_. That was a long time ago and far away and now here he is, too young to be worry about things like this and too old to be concerning himself with the affairs of another, standing here and looking down in the brightly lit room, his breathing far too fast for him to disguise it any longer.  
  
He’s always been good at deflection except when he needs it to work the most.  
  
Akashi’s on the court, standing strong. There’s no reason for him not to be; he’s there in the middle, among the Jabberwock who tower over him. Physically, of course—something something Napoleon complex, and it brings a twitch to Mayuzumi’s lips even as he leans over the railing further without noticing what he’s doing. Akashi is there, and Mayuzumi can’t get to him, and doesn’t even know if he wants to.  
  
The sound of their sneakers digging in echo across the plastic of the court as the crowd alternates cheers and shouts and other sounds that do not make it into Mayuzumi’s consciousness. He watches Akashi, standing on the court, watches his eyes widen and feels his heart still.  
  
 **II. The Light**  
  
Sometimes he thinks about fate. Not in the saccharine pop magazine, you’re fated to meet your true love in a wayside port-a-potty or whatever sort of way. Mayuzumi doesn’t believe in it, doesn’t believe in many things but what he can see and touch and hear, and even then it’s not enough. Akashi, though, defies it all, defies reality itself to an extent that Mayuzumi finds at once revolting and fascinating.  
  
Even through the glaring stadium lights he can almost  _feel_  the moment Akashi changes.  
  
There it is again: the hastened beating of his heart, the quiet murmur, and almost angry voice that bites back: he used you, that’s the one who used and left you hanging. Mayuzumi would say he knows better than most, has more sense than the rest of them combined—who really tries so hard with a club sport like this, anyway? Who takes things so seriously? Won’t it be better to let it go? If you turn around and leave?  
  
Except.  
  
Mayuzumi watches the light streak across the court, the yells or lack thereof in the background fading into white noise, and his heart goes with it— _Akashi_ , he wants to say, the syllables jumbled at the tip of his tongue, unable to spill. The Akashi who had reached out to him and then shut into himself, the Akashi who burned so bright Mayuzumi was almost afraid to look at him, to look at him go.  
  
In real time, it happens in a split second. To Mayuzumi, time freezes.  
  
(It never does quite go back to normal, he finds later.)  
  
 **III. You**  
  
When the game ends, Mayuzumi is the first to go.  
  
He walks down the stairs one by one, almost stumbling at the last step, but steadies himself enough that he doesn’t fall over. There’s something almost magnetic pulling him back, but he ignores it for the signs pointing to the nearest bus station. He’s got time; he’s in Tokyo for school anyhow, and it’s the only reason why he’d decided to swing by.  
  
Nothing more.  
  
The station is empty apart from the few stragglers waiting around. His phone buzzes almost the exact instant he reaches for it to check the time.  
  
 _I saw you up there, Mayuzumi-san._  
  
Mayuzumi looks at the number, and then puts the phone back into his jacket pocket.  
  
It’s a little stuffy out there, Mayuzumi realizes as he’s assaulted by the too-cold air conditioning of the bus as he boards. The bus is almost empty; he takes a seat, and as another passenger talks to the driver he thinks he sees something familiar outside the window.  
  
Akashi is there.  
  
 _Fuck,_  Mayuzumi wants to say. He wants to say something else, but like Akashi’s name the words sit stuck to his mouth like hardened wax. They look at each other: Akashi’s scarlet eyes—there’s still something different about the left one, the way the pupil is shaped, but hell, Mayuzumi must be seeing things. He can’t possibly tell with the distance between them and the dim shitty street light illuminating everything. His lips curl up into something like a grimace, something like a smile, and apparently it is enough for Akashi to be satisfied.  
  
 _I’ll see you around,_  the next text says.  
  
Mayuzumi watches him leave, back to his teammates, his rivals, his friends, back into the light. Back into somewhere perhaps not so unattainable anymore, now that this has all happened. He closes the windows, content to be in the dark as the driver revs up the engines again.  
  
He takes out his phone and starts to compose a reply.


End file.
